


You Great Unfinished Symphony

by destinae



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, This is gonna be long and slow build and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-indulgent founding fathers in college.</p><p>Most things are adapted directly from historical contexts to 2015. King's College is currently known as Columbia University, so I kept with the new name to keep with the whole 'contemporary' thing, whatever. </p><p>Kind of biographical, kind of shippy, kind of slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

     “And don’t forget!” The bright, nasally voice chimed, “It’s a great day to be a Lion!”

     The theatre broke out into applause and cheers as a lion mascot ran into the crowd, paws raised. Two great doors in the back of the room opened, and the Columbia University Band flooded the room with noise that was entirely too discordant to be called music.

     A brunette figure slipped out with the crowd, head bowed, deceptively-shiny Oxfords clicking on the pavement, hands tucked politely in his pockets.

     He made his way through the crowd, which churned like some hungry ocean lapping madly at his heels until he broke from the hysteria and into the wide open commons. The student orientation was officially over. The boy turned around, back at the crowd, and watched them pour down the steps, the statue of Alma Mater sitting undisturbed amidst the chaos.

     The boy sat down on the low steps in front of the statue, back resting against cold marble.

     In front of him the expansive grass commons of Columbia offered themselves up to the class of 2020, glimmering with dew left over by a generous morning. Everything about the view was idyllic. Even within the still-heaving crowd of Freshmen, everything in the commons seemed as if it belonged there, not a brick out of place.

     At that realization, a small smile formed on the boy’s face. More of a smirk than anything, really. This was his homefield now. The bricks were his stomping grounds, and the boy realized then and there that he would do anything to make sure that his place in this world was as cemented as the paths that ran through the veins of Columbia.  
One day, right at the center of the perfect grass field, there would stand a satute, and it would say his name.  
It would say,

“Alexander Hamilton”

* * *

 

     The experience of actually locating his dorm bordered on torture.

     When Alexander had finally managed to locate his room, he was less than relieved to open the door to cardboard boxes holding everything he owned, shipped up from Providence and received by Columbia. Even then, there wasn’t much in the boxes to begin with. Just clothes, a few novels, endless notebooks, and a handful of family photos.

     It was minimal, and Alexander knew it all too well.

     If it hadn’t been for the full-ride that Columbia had granted him, he knew he would never have been able to attend to begin with.

     Then the first box was opened. It was stuffed to the gills with notebooks, paper, and pens. Deciding he would bother with the stress of organizing his desk later, Alexander set the box on the desk at the foot of his bed.

     Progress.

     The next two boxes were all clothes. Blazers, button-ups, t-shirts, jeans, and so many cardigans he couldn’t keep count were all folded neatly in their respective boxes. Within half an hour, everything was folded and placed in its appointed spot within Alexander’s drawers.

     A pile of empty boxes formed and grew as Alexander unpacked, and time came and went. Before he knew it, three hours had passed and his roommate was still missing in action. The solitude filled Alexander with an uncharacteristic dread, a fear that he’d have the room to himself and spend his first year with his only friend being the admissions director.

     Since Alexander was entirely too humiliated to leave his room without speaking to his roommate, Alexander crushed his cardboard boxes, setting them in the hallway, before opening up his first new journal. He dated it and began writing.

                     I’ve arrived at Columbia and taken advantage of my time alone to unpack  
                    and get situated. While I was initially afraid that my few belongings  
                    would make me look out of place at Columbia, it seems that the small  
                    dorm room has made up for my minimal packing, and made my  
                    belongings appear expansive. Earlier today, I attended a student  
                    orientation that I really wish I hadn’t even considered showing up to  
                    in the first place. I was forced to sit through singing, dancing, and  
                    acting worse than I could have ever anticipated from such a  
                    prestigious school. My roommate is yet to arrive, and I’m not  
                    entirely sure whether I’ve chosen to appreciate his lax approach  
                    to the move-in schedule, or hate his inability to be on time. I  
                    haven’t made any friends yet, but I expected such would be the  
                    case. My--

     In the middle of writing his next sentence, the door to Alexander’s door swung open.

     His roommate had arrived.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, we get to find out who his roommate is! I doubt it's much of a surprise from a shipper standard. I did a little research and couldn't find out much about the guy in question's parents, so I improvised. 
> 
> I'm still getting a grasp on Alexander's character, and I'm trying to avoid expository dumps as much as I can. 
> 
> The chapters are short, I know, but it makes the whole progress of writing the fic much easier on me, especially considering how much time I spend in rehearsals and on my NaNo novel.

     The first person to enter was a tall, composed looking man. He looked the kind of person who could actually afford a Columbia University tuition, without all the financial aid that Alexander had relied on for his own attendance. Second to enter was the boy Alexander assumed to be his roommate. The boy was skinny and talll, wearing a polo and khakis that he appeared uncomfortable in. Like Alexander, the boy had long hair. His was curlier, though, tucked behind his ears and pinned out of his eyes. The deceptively organized style was betrayed by a  few stray curls, which testified that the look had been rushed. The boy finally turned his gaze from the back of his father’s head to Alexander’s face, and their eyes met. Deciding to be the first to say something, Alexander rose to his feet. “Alexander H-”

     “Alexander Hamilton.” The boy said with a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I saw you already signed in. I’m John.” He held out a hand, but made a face like he’d remembered something before changing it to a fist. Alexander stared at it for a few moments in silence. An awkward laugh from John. “You’re supposed to pound it. Y’know.” He made a half-punch motion with the fist, and Alexander mirrored it.

     It was in that moment that Alexander decided he would never pound it for as long as he lived.

     Alexander’s gaze shifted to John’s father. While Alexander liked to think that he dressed somewhat prodigiously, his Goodwill button-up had nothing on the honest-to-goodness in-season waistcoat that the bearded man was wearing. Alexander hated that man.

     “Hello, Mr.--- ah--” Of course, it was in that moment that Alexander blanked as to his roommate’s last name.

     “Laurens.” The man said, arms crossed, examining the room with disdain.

     A slight frown. “My name’s Alexander Hamilton, I’m his roommate, sir.” The man refused to look at Alexander. He just let out a grunt and turned to his wife. As Mr. Laurens griped to his about the quality of the room, Alexander spoke to John. Without lowering his tone, Alexander said, “Will he allow me to talk to you, or does he have a problem with my hand-me-downs?” The tone bordered on patronizing. An uncomfortable look crossed John’s face, then he laughed.

     “No, I doubt it. Guy’s just a little upset because the dorms aren’t as good as they used to be when he came here. Isn’t that right, pop?” John said, gaze turning to his father. The man said,

     “I just want to know where the hell all the money I give this school goes.”

     John turned back to Alexander. “See what I mean?”

     Alexander frowned. “Clear as day.”

     Recognizing that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Laurens, Alexander went back to his desk, scribbling privately in his journal as John unpacked.

 

                    My roommate is kind, but his parents seem to be caught up in

                    custom. Sets an unwelcome precedent. I think my time at

                    school will pass peacefully if this encounter is anything like my

                    time with the rest of the University. I hoped I would have a

                    group of friends, but at least I’m getting an education that I

                    can be proud of.

 

     John’s parents seemed almost excited to leave, parting without so much as hugging John goodbye. As soon as the door clicked shut, Alexander turned to face John.

     “They’re really quite pretentious.”

     John shrugged. “Yeah, they can be that way. Whenever I take how much they’re payin’ into consideration, though, I decide I can deal with it.”

     Alexander nodded. “I don’t want to eat dinner alone, and I doubt you want to either. Want to grab a bite with me?”

     The roommate froze, glancing up at Alexander for a moment with a blank face. After a few long moments, his expression broke into a smile. “Sure, but uh-- I was actually gonna meet up with a few friends of mine. Maybe I could introduce ya’. Considerin’ you don’t like my parents, y’all will already have something in common.” John tucked some socks into a drawer.

     “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

     “Alexander, right?”

     “Alexander.”

     “I think I’m gonna like you, Alexander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here's Laurens! I'm writing him with Anthony Ramos's interpretation in mind, as well as how I've seen other writers interpret him as well. I'm really excited to introduce y'all to the rest of the Hamilsquad in the next chapter, and get some plot in motion.
> 
> The editing on this chapter was kinda rushed, so sorry if there are any weird grammatical blips. Kudos and critique are appreciated, and feel free to share this with y'alls friends! I'm really flattered with the amount of attention this fic has been getting since I published the first chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the rest of the hamilsquad.
> 
> I don't like scenes with too many characters, but this one was necessary so I could sort out some initial dynamics and such.
> 
> As I said in the first chapter, accents (especially Mulligan's) might be particularly obnoxious, but they will be dropped in a bit, once I'm sure the reader can fill them in or whatnot.
> 
> These updates are coming pretty frequently because I've gotten quite far ahead with my writing for NaNo. Enjoy.

“Thank you,” Alexander muttered, hands tucked in his pockets, “For helping me find a group of friends.”

 

John laughed. “Oh don’t worry ‘bout it. They’re all pretty laid back. You’ll fit right in.”

 

At this, Alexander gave the table John was approaching a good look-over. There were only two people sitting there, the first having perched on the table itself, legs spread, talking energetically into a cell phone, his voice audible over everyone else’s.

 

“An’ I’m fuckin’ done wit’ it! Why the ‘ell does ‘e think ‘e can walk in an’ tell me how ta’ fuck ta’ run ma’ fuckin’ store? It’s fuckin’---”

 

The guy stopped mid-sentence, noticing John. They exchanged smiles.

 

John broke the smile, looking at Alexander, saying, “That’s Hercules.” And before he could get a proper introduction out, the guy in question jumped down from the table, swaggering to John and giving him a tight hug, patting him on the back before looking at Alexander.

 

“An’ who is this?” He asked, looking Alexander over. “Fresh meat?”

 

John nodded. “And I betcha can’t even guess where he’s from.”

 

Hercules stepped away from John, putting his finger on his chin and examining Alexander for a long moment. “I wanna say England by the way ‘e dresses, but ‘e doesn’t have the bearin’ of an Englishman. Where ya’ from, then, newbie?”

 

“Providence.”

 

“Providence? Ya’ gotta be shittin’ me! Providence? Ma’ man, that’s fuckin’ bonkers! I’m ‘ercules. ‘ercules Mulligan. Kappa Tau ‘till I die. ‘Ave you met the others yet?”

 

Alexander shook his head. Immediately, Hercules grabbed him by his arm and waved at someone who was presently talking to someone whose face Alexander couldn’t make out. The figure was tall and lean, wearing a plum-colored jacket and beige pants that would have looked garish on anyone else, but possessed an eccentric charm when wore by them. Their back rest against a brick pillar as they spoke, a casual smile on their face.

 

“Ay!” He said, “Lafayette, get ya’ big ‘ead over ‘ere and meet John’s new mate!”

 

The person, presumably Lafayette, walked over to the trio, book tucked under their arm, and said in the most beautiful French accent, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

A nod. “Alexander Hamilton.”

 

“Hamilton?” Lafayette gave Alexander a gentle embrace, kissing him on both cheeks and saying,  “My name is Marquis de Lafayette. Lafayette will do it, though.”

 

“Wha’?” Hercules interjected, “No longer fond a’ Gibby?”

 

The question, obviously a joke, incited laughter from everyone but Alexander. Lafayette said, “Don’t worry about them. They have trouble pronouncing my real name, so they pretend they prefer the most ridiculous one.”

 

“The most ridiculous one?” 

 

“My name is much longer than Marquis de Lafayette. My parents had a certain flair for tradition.” Alexander made a mental note to ask John about Lafayette’s real name as soon as the two of them were alone. Just as the silence was about to get strange, Lafayette said, “And what are you studying here?”

 

It was then that Alexander realized that the entire group sat around him, watching him, waiting for an answer. He pursed his lips. “Political science.”

 

The other three exchanged looks for what felt like a minute, but couldn’t have been more than an instant.

 

“You’re gonna fit right in.” John finally said, smiling. “Now how about we get some food in your stomach?”

 

* * *

 

A few minutes and two slices of pizza later, Alexander and the group had finished their meals, and were sitting at the table, chatting idly.

 

“There’s no reason we should tell others how to dress.” Lafayette said, surprisingly calm, considering how long the table had been talking about the dress code at the college. “I wear whatever I want without complaint, but wearing small shorts offends every teacher in the school. It’s unfair.”

 

“‘Ah don’ give a shi’ what tha’ fuckin’ dean thinks.” Hercules said, frowning. “We gotta’ do somefin’ about this bullshit. Jus’ sittin’ and talkin’ won’t solve nuffin’. How tha’ hell am I supposed ta’ pull when ah’ can’t even scope out tha’ goods?”

 

“That’s not what this is about.” Alexander said. “Hercules, this is about the girls getting to wear what they want. In fact, has anyone considered--” Alexander was cut off by his phone ringing. He stood up, answering it as he walked away from the table.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello, Alexander. This is Yyvone. I’m the bursar’s assistant for Columbia University. It seems that there have been some discrepancies in your scholarship file. If you could come to my office as soon as possible, I would like to have this sorted out before classes begin tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll be right there.” Alexander said, locking his phone and returning to the table. “Hey, I need to go talk to the bursar. I’ll see you all later.”

 

“You need company, Alexander?” John asked. 

 

“Uh, no.” He answered. “It shouldn’t take too long anyway.”

 

The group looked at him, nodded, and went back to their heated debate, which no doubt had gone back a debate about which girls in the cafeteria they wanted to rail. 

 

Whatever.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! I have gotten some tweets about how my chapters are a bit long, and I'm sorry, but I just prefer to work in shorter chapters when it comes to fanfics because it helps me focus on characterization and such.
> 
> Right now my main focus is developing distinct voices and characters for each player in the story. This chapter also set up the initial conflict, which is dress code.
> 
> Now I know most colleges don't have dress codes, but I promise that'll be explained later in the story. New chapter hopefully tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More padding and character introduction and development. Don't worry, we're getting to plot soon, I promise.

As of the moment Alexander sat down with the Bursar at Columbia, he’d had the great fortune of only communicating with them via email. Written correspondence always made the best of people, in Hamilton’s experience. In this case, the statement was doubly applicable. He was always more restrained on paper, more composed and cultured than the passionate and outspoken punk he really was underneath all the tattered waistcoats and almost-too-big Oxfords. A mahogany door made way to the decadent office of the bursar, covered in china more expensive than all the things Alexander owned collectively. It was then that he decided he didn’t like the bursar at all. Taking a seat, he looked at the empty desk. 

 

Yyvone had told him that the bursar wouldn’t take much longer than five minutes to come into his office.

 

The old fart took fifteen.

 

He was a disgusting, hulking thing with an air of superiority that was beyond misleading. He wore a three-piece suit, the old lamps of the office shining off of his balding head. Alexander crossed his legs.

 

“You wanted to see me.”

 

“Ah, yes.” The man said, thousands of chins wobbling as he spoke into a pile of papers on his desk. “Mister Hamilton?”

 

“Mister Bursar.”

 

“I, ah, called you to my office because of a discrepancy in your paperwork, see. Looks like, er-- looks like you had a little bit of, uh, bit’a difficulty deciding what nationality you wanted to identify as.” The man said.

 

“I’m a little surprised you’re going to try and hold me responsible for my genetics.” Alexander retorted.

 

A nervous, sad little laugh from a big, scared old man. “Of course, ah, of course. We just, er-- some of your scholarships will, ah, will have to be re-submitted on a case-by-case basis. Because you, ah, you applied for a lot of-- right. You were admitted for, for ah-- for quite a few of, for quite a few scholarships.”

 

“Because of my heritage?” Maybe it was just exhaustion from the walk, but Alexander found himself in no mood to deal with the bursar. “I can’t redact my genetics.”

 

The man nodded. “Of course, Mr. Hamilton. It’s just very ambitious, as I’m sure you understand. You, ah-- your grades in high school made us hesitant to admit you in the first place, if I am to be entirely honest.”

 

A familiar rage boiled inside Alexander. “Then you don’t want to let me attend because I’m a stupid mixed kid? Is that what you want me to take away from this?” 

He pursed his lips. “Well, in that phrasing, it’s, uh--”

 

Alexander rose to his feet. “Do you know what I had to do to get here? I have nothing, sir. I couldn’t even afford the ticket here, my entire hometown had to pay for it. I applied for those scholarships and told you the parts of my identity that I knew were applicable to the scholarship. My intelligence should have nothing to do with my opportunity to learn more. My grades were abhorrent in high school because I was working my ass off to make sure that my mother had passed away, and I was paying solely for the roof over my head. Sorry that in trying to keep warm during the winter, I forgot to do my homework. My mother is dead. My dad is missing. My cousin killed himself, and this college gave me a second chance at life. Do I make myself clear?”

 

The man looked like he just might shit himself. “S-sir, it’s just college policy. We’ll, ah, we’ll look over your financial information and, ah, and see what comes of it. Your academics are inexcusable, and, ah, and your disrespect is astounding.”

 

It was then that Alexander reached across the desk, knocking over a statue of a half-naked lady, and grabbed the man by his tightly-buttoned collar.

 

And then Yyvone came in, “Sir---” She looked at Alexander, wide-eyed, and he let go of the hideous old fat man. She said, “S-sir, Burr wants to meet with you.” 

 

The man looked from Yyvone to Alexander and back again, before sitting back in his desk. “Tell him we can meet tomorrow.”

 

Alexander took his chance to get the hell out of Dodge, making no ceremony of standing up and storming out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I've been working on a shorter fic on the side to this one while I iron out Hamilton as a character, it's called The Room Where It Happens and feel free to give it a read! It's got longer chapters, and is a bit more anecdotal than this fic. Hope you give it a read and tell me what you think!
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet one of many of this fic's antagonists.
> 
> For reference, Alma Mater is a statue on Columbia University's campus.

It was in his American Government class that Alexander had the great misfortune of meeting Thomas Jefferson. The tall, well-built man with features Alexander had initially found admirable sat at the front of the lecture hall, computer on before the professor entered, open to an empty Word document where he’d undoubtedly take perfectly-organized notes. Alexander sat two seats to his right, and pretended he knew how to take notes, an already-started notebook opened up to the first page, where at the top he’d scribbled a few sentences about the fact that higher education ought to be a right and not a privilege.

 

It was also in his American Government class that Alexander learned that, beyond a superficial beauty that could not be ignored, there was little more about Thomas that was attractive. He stood for everything Alexander was against, and did it with a similar passion. He was a Freshman, too, and Alexander was disgusted to realize he would have to spend time around Thomas for another three years. Once the class let out, Alexander sent a message to John.

 

A_Ham: Met this prick in my Gov class.

A_Ham: He legitimately thinks that the government should give states more power.

A_Ham: Does he not remember the Articles of Confederation?

A_Ham: It’s 2015 and his head is still in 1776.

 

It took John nearly ten minutes to respond.

 

J_Lau: What’s he look like?

A_Ham: Handsome. Tall, well-groomed. Jawline for days.

J_Lau: Sits at the front of class?

A_Ham: So you’ve met him.

J_Lau: Yeah, had him in my Psych class. 

J_Lau: Seems like a real upstanding guy.

A_Ham: That’s a joke, right?

J_Lau: Yes.

Alexander set down his phone. Crossing his legs, he took a seat on a low wall in the commons, staring ahead at the large statue of Alma Mater, trying so hard to not let the annoyance settle in. He liked to think he had a low temper, that he at least made an effort to front that he was levelheaded. Truth was, as anyone could know, Alexander lacked any capacity, even in the slightest, to be patient with people. Especially with people who thought differently than he did. Especially those who did so as eloquently and passionately as he did. There was only enough room in Columbia for one ego, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone but Alexander’s.

 

It was then that the professor of Alexander’s Government class took a seat beside him, at first saying nothing and looking at the statue, then looking at Alexander with a warm energy.

 

 

“You seemed uncomfortable in my class today.” He said.

 

Alexander shrugged. “It was that Jefferson guy. Has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.”

 

“Now, don’t be so brash. Isn’t everyone entitled to their own ideas as to how the government should work? We are a country with laws built on compromise.”

 

“And we are a country built off of debate. Slavery, suffrage-- these weren’t compromises.”

 

The older man shook his head. “I appreciate your ambition and passion, but you’ll burn out if you keep at it like this.”

 

“I’d better burn out than fade away.” Alexander replied with a frown.

 

“You’ll get both if you’re not careful. I like your spunk, Hamilton, but spunk and recklessness are two different things.”

 

Alexander’s fingers drummed on the concrete of the wall. “Thank you, professor.”

 

And the man was gone.

 

He eventually got up from the wall, heading to his Political Theory class and putting the whole thing behind him.   
  


 

J_Lau: Alexander

J_Lau: Alexander

J_Lau: alex

J_Lau: ANDER

A_Ham: What?

J_Lau: Alma Mater.

J_Lau: Now.

A_Ham: Why?

J_Lau: Me and a couple of the guys are getting a drink.

J_Lau: Are you in or what?

A_Ham: I’ll be there in ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters that I've written so far. I know updates are a bit irregular, but I have a particularly busy week this week, and so I guess five updates is better than 0, right? 
> 
> As usual, kudos and feedback are adored!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hamilsquad rolls out. 
> 
> Another chapter that's a bit of padding and character solidification, but I promise to make up for it in the next one, when things start actually happening.

            It took Alexander precisely five minutes to arrive at the statue of Alma Mater.

 

            He had considered not showing up at all. After all, if there was one thing the world could never know about Alexander, it was that he was the heaviest drinker since the dawn of time. Hamilton could hold his whiskey like a secret. Thus, he’d picked up the habit of being more of a social drinker than anything else. What was the point of drinking if it took eighty bucks to get wasted?

 

            As he strolled up to the statue of Alma Mater where Hercules, Lafayette, and John sat, Alexander couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. Having Laurens as his roommate had really been quite a stroke of luck, and he wasn’t about to forget it. Alexander was sure to make a mental note to one day ask Laurens how he’d gotten into the company of the other men, how he so naturally meshed with such a wide variety of people.

 

          “Ay, there ‘e is!” Hercules said, hopping up from a step and practically flying halfway down the flight of stairs at the foot of the statue to walk over to Alexander. “About damn time ya showed up, too. Was finkin’ of leavin’ you be’ind, wasn’t we?”

 

           Lafayette stood up too, having been leaning against the side of the statue, and moving with an almost seductive swagger that was entirely too natural to be awkward. Lafayette’s hair was less restricted than before, pincurls hanging in their eyes and flying in every imaginable direction. They said nothing, but gave a look at Alexander that was all the hello that was really needed.

 

           John, meanwhile, went straight to a hug, patting Alexander on the back and holding him out at arm’s length.

 

          “You ready to make a killing, Alexander?”

 

          Hamilton couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. “Let’s go.” 

 

         The quartet made their way across the commons, walking in a small huddle with Alexander and Laurens in front, Lafayette trailing behind, chatting softly with someone on the phone while Mulligan almost danced around them, chanting about babes, butts, and booze. Alexander lowered his voice to talk to Laurens.

 

        “Where are we going?”

 

        “The crowbar. Mulligan found a way to get you in, even though you aren’t part of the frat.”

 

        “Really?” Alexander asked, eyeing Hercules, silently placing a tally next to Mulligan’s name on the list of people who had already done nice things for him since he’d arrived on campus. “Guess it must be a pretty nice place, then.”

 

        “It’s not about how nice the joint is.” Laurens said, pausing as Mulligan shouted something crass, causing a small flock of birds to flee a nearby tree. “It’s about how nice the booze is, and word on the street is that this is The Place to get it. Capital TP.”

 

        A nod.

 

        Maybe Alexander wouldn’t limit his drinking. Despite knowing his own nasty habits, most of which included flirting with the nearest thing on legs and taking them home for a test ride, he couldn’t help but feel tempted to test the waters with his new friends.

 

        Maybe it was the eccentric edge in Alexander's personality. Maybe it was ambition. Whatever it was, it would have to be tested. While something told him it wasn’t the time to be testing his drunken judgement skills, another something promised that it was as good a time as ever to have a little fun.

 

* * *

 

        When they arrived at the Crowbar, Alexander was less than surprised by how small it was. The bar was homely and small, almost charming in its minutiae. The inside was almost entirely empty, besides a few small huddles of students, all of which held nearly identical glasses of what Alexander could only guess was beer.

 

        It smelled like weed and sex.

 

        Hercules threw the doors of the Crowbar wide open, crossing the length of the building in what had to be only a few steps, and rushing into a group of guys wearing shirts with matching greek symbols, shouting something about Kappa whatever. They all bumped chests, and Mulligan fell deep into a boisterous conversation about something Alexander wouldn’t waste any energy trying to make out.

 

        Instead, he followed Lafayette and John to a low table by the bar, sliding into a booth and trying to ignore the cringeworthy sound of squeaking leather as he took a seat.

 

        The building had to be at least as old as he was. Alexander hadn’t noticed it until he sat down, but everything in the place had a weird, rustic charm to it.

 

        Well, "charm" might have been a more generous way of saying “disgusting and trashy”, but he wasn’t about to disparage what was supposed to be a campus icon.

 

* * *

 

        “Alright, Alexander. I’ve gotta tell you about this place, the story’s pretty interesting.”

 

        Something about being silent long enough to listen to a story for Alexander, but he found himself almost too eager to please. “Go ahead.”

 

        Laurens grinned, leaning forward and going into full storyteller mode. “Basically, way back when in the year eighteen-whatever, booze wasn’t allowed on campus. People were too stuck up for it, or whatever. To protest, Kappa Tau-- you know, Herc’s frat-- built this place right outside of campus lines. They bought the land and everything, so when the school expanded, they had no choice but to build around the bar. It’s still technically on its own land, and not part of the campus or whatever, but ask anyone and they don’t give a shit about the fine print. This place is a bit of symbol, actually. Of the spirit of Columbia.”

 

        Lafayette spoke up, having turned his lingering gaze away from the beefy-looking bartender to look at Laurens. “That story was very entertaining, _mon amie_ , but I did not come here for history lessons. How about we get something to drink and discuss something more interesting?”

 

        And so they did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Another chapter, cranked out. This one's a bit longer than the others, I think. I don't really track length.
> 
> I've managed to iron out a pretty good process for getting these chapters published in a timely manner, so I'm hoping to publish a new chapter either every day, or every other day. 
> 
> I hope you like this, and if you do, be sure to drop some kudos and comments!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're still goofing off a little bit in here. Just getting some initial relationship building and stuff in.
> 
> Expect plot in a chapter or two. 
> 
> This one's a little short. The next one will be longer.

     If Alexander Hamilton were ever to be asked how he ended up in Marquis De Lafayette’s lap, blushing like a bride as the upperclassman kissed his neck, he would probably deny that the entire affair had even happened to begin with. Considering that neither of them remembered what had happened the day afterwards, and only knew of its existence because of the series of hickeys that marked Alexander’s neck and, he wouldn’t be entirely wrong. The events of the night previous unfolded as follows:

 

  1. Lafayette, Laurens, and Hamilton bought a round of drinks.

  2. Lafayette, Laurens, and Hamilton bought another round of drinks.

  3. Mulligan bought another round of drinks for the entire bar.

  4. Lafayette and Hamilton bought another round of drinks while Laurens tried to hit on a woman who was at least twice his age.

  5. Lafayette bought another round of drinks.

  6. Laurens passed out (or fell asleep, maybe both)

  7. Lafayette began drunkenly recounting tales of their time in France to Hamilton.

  8. Hamilton, being the pretentious pseudo-sapiosexual he was, immediately jumped Lafayette’s bones.




 

     Such was the official version of events that Alexander recognized. He wasn’t entirely sure how he wound up back in his dorm, half-dressed, on the cold tile floor, but what Alexander was sure of was the fact that Laurens was definitely not there with him, like he should have been. Lafayette was also absent, as was half of Alexander’s cash. Alexander made an attempt to sit up, but fell back to the floor when a crushing headache landed on him like a ton of bricks.

     While he lie on the floor, bathing in his own soreness and sickness, Alexander mulled over what had happened the night previous. Maybe he should have been a little embarrassed by his conduct, but it was hardly the greatest of his concerns. In fact, the only thing on Alexander’s mind was how everyone else who had been there would react. While Alexander didn’t typically concern himself with what others thought of him, the idea of losing all the friends he’d made on the first day made him sick to his stomach. Sicker, even, than his hangover.

     Rising to his feet, Alexander stole a baseball cap from Laurens’s side of the dorm (he could only assume his roommate wouldn’t mind) and used it in some attempt to pat down his hair, which was undoubtedly sticking up every ungodly direction imaginable. He then spent exactly ten minutes trying to get a t-shirt on without having to take the baseball cap off. He eventually compromised by wearing a zip-up hoodie, sans shirt.

     Because he just didn’t give a shit.

     Where could he begin looking for Laurens, anyway? One click told Alexander that his phone was dead, so he plugged it in. Hamilton took his dorm key and departed, not realizing he had forgotten his shoes until he was well down the hallway.

     He ended up wearing sandals, which were also Laurens’s.

 

* * *

 

     Alexander did the math. His first class was at five in the afternoon, and by the time he’d gotten out of his dorm, it was nearly noon. He had around three hours to scour the campus before he had to return to his dorm, literally wash himself of the previous night’s events, and put on some clothes that were actually his.

     It was to Alexander’s great surprise that he found Lafayette without much difficulty. They were perched on the steps by Alma Mater, reading a book and looking far too composed for someone who’d gotten drunk the night previous. Naturally, Alexander walked directly up to him.

                            “Lafayette--”

                            “Alexander.” They replied, turning their gaze up from their book and giving a warm smile. “You look like an absolute mess.”

                            A frown. “Are you surprised?”

                            “No. Why are you so angry, mon amie?” They asked, rising to their feet.

                            “Well, for one, I can’t find John.”

                            Lafayette laughed. “Oh, Laurens? I assumed you and him and gone back together.”

                            “What?”

                            You are wearing his clothes, Alexander.”

                            Hamilton pursed his lips. “Do you know where he is?”

                            Lafayette paused in thought. “How should I know? Do you have his phone number?”

                            “Yes, but my phone’s dead.”

                            “Very well-” (Who the hell says ‘very well?’) “Here’s my phone. Text him.”

  
  


                                                        M_Laf: Laurens

                                                        M_Laf: Laurens it’s Alexander

                                                        J_Lau: Wtf where r u?

                                                        M_Laf: I got back to the dorm.

                                                        M_Laf: I borrowed ur clothes

                                                        J_Lau: I’m with Mulligan. He took me back to the frat house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! I actually meant to update this tomorrow but ended up spending my evening with some theatre friends and studying for a Pre-Cal test, which of course ended up being moved. Just my luck, honestly. 
> 
> Hope you like! Kudos and comments/feedback are adored.
> 
> If you haven't caught on by now, I am writing Lafayette as nonbinary with they/them pronouns. It'll be discussed later in the story, but for now just understand that it's the reason I'm using they/them on them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the main plot!
> 
> I'm still building relationships and stuff, but things are gonna start chugging along right now!

     “He’s fine.” Alexander said out loud, handing the phone back to Lafayette.

     “Will you go get him?” Lafayette asked as they tucked their phone into their pocket.

     Alexander shrugged. “I guess so.” After all, since he had found John so quickly, he had tons of time on his hands.. Alexander had no appetite, courtesy of the hangover, so it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do with all the time anyway. “Where’s the house?”

     “I can show you the way if you like,” Lafayette said.

     Honestly, Alexander wouldn’t mind spending more time around Lafayette. They were laid back and patient, very (dare he say it) lasseiz-faire in his attitudes. Just the fact that they hadn’t brought up the previous night’s events said enough about their integrity as it was. “I don’t see why not.” Alexander replied with a small smile.

     Lafayette was going to make a magnificent friend.

 

* * *

 

` It took them half an hour to arrive at the Phi Kappa Tau fraternity house. It was a beautiful thing, a classic New England home with giant black greek symbols plastered across the top of it. Alexander couldn’t stop himself from physically stopping in his tracks and admiring the building. It was so opulent in its simplicity, much more beautiful than anything he had ever seen back in Providence.

     Lafayette brought him back to the present, taking Alexander by the wrist and tugging him up the sidewalk.

     So Alexander followed.

     The door was opened by a tall, beefy trust fund wearing a muscle tee. Alexander felt sick.

     “Hey dude, what’s up?” The guy said, looking very critical of the two of them. It might have been because of the nearly-transparent shirt Lafayette was wearing, or the definitely-too-small hoodie that Alexander just then realized wasn’t entirely zipped up.

     “We are looking for our friend, Hercules. Doesn’t he stay here?” Lafayette was the first to speak, making direct eye contact with the frat bro in question. Alexander just stared at the guy’s right bicep.

     “Oh shit, you’re Herc’s friends? Dude,-- dude. DUDE!” He shouted back into the house, “MULLIGAN, GET YOUR ASS TO THE DOOR.”

     Mulligan got his ass to the door, wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the symbols of Phi Kappa Tau on it, face lighting up when he saw Lafayette and Alexander. “Oi, you came! I was ‘opin’ you would, John’s been textin’ you non-stop for the past half ‘our.”

     Alexander remembered his phone in his dorm, and suddenly felt quite guilty. He said nothing.

     “Can you bring him here?” Lafayette asked. “Alexander’s been trying to see him.”

     “Sure thing, bruv. LAURENS!” Evidently, frats only communicated in shouts.

     Sure enough, Laurens came from inside the house, wearing a too-big Phi Kappa Tau shirt and looking a bit disoriented, but otherwise fine. ‘Hey, Alexander--” He paused “-- in my clothes. Do you always steal peoples’ clothes?”

     Alexander shrugged. “When needed.”

     Lafayette spoke up, in what Alexander could only hope was an attempt to ease the tension. “Well, will you be coming back with us or not?”

     “I mean, as much as I enjoyed Herc’s company, I do think it’d be better to go back to the dorms.”

     Hercules laughed. “Sure thing mate. I’ll be sure ta’ take ya’ back next time.”

     And so Alexander, Lafayette, and John began their journey back to the dorm.

 

* * *

 

     “I’m not kidding, Alexander.” John said as he hung up the sweater that Alexander had been previously wearing. “Debate’s pretty serious here. They’re like the football team, but actually good.” He allowed himself a little laugh.

     “I don’t know if that’d end well.” Alexander was sitting at his desk, a book he wasn’t reading sitting on his desk. “I’m a bit too loudmouthed for that.”

     “No, that’s a good thing, Alex. It means you can raise good points.”

     Alexander hesitated. Debate kids were liable for scholarships and went on tons of trips. Winning meant another mark on the resume, too. “What if I don’t want to do it?”

     “I think you will.” John replied.

     “And how do you know that?”

     “You know that Jefferson kid?”

     “Yeah.”

     “He’s playing for the other team in the next debate.”

     Alexander stopped, closing his book and standing up. “How do I join?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so i know i'm a little off with updates right now. The JV company at my school is putting on their play, so I've been busy running house and such.
> 
> I guess I should note that while Hercules "my sonnigan" Mulligan isn't going to be a very major character in this plot. The Schuyler sisters also aren't going to be relevant until later. The main cast is gonna be mostly Jefferson, Laurens, Hamilton, and later Burr. Washington and Mulligan will appear infrequently, as well as a smattering of others.
> 
> There will be at least three chapters about Samuel Seabury because I'm a terrible person.
> 
> Updates are gonna stay fairly infrequent, since I just got cast in the next show, and rehearsals are every afternoon. I'll do my best to post at least once a week, though. Enjoy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things get moving. God, it's about time.

The first meeting for the debate team was a bit messy. As per college tradition, the first meeting of the organization was huge. This was courtesy of the free pizza and koozies with the team’s mascot (a lion, Alexander discovered) on the front of it. Alexander and John sat alone in the packed room, Lafayette having passed up the opportunity to go on a date, and Mulligan having laughed at the prospect. Admittedly, Alexander agreed that Hercules didn’t seem like the type for eloquence or elegance of any sort. Regardless, the show went on. Alexander had somewhat of a vendetta against Jefferson, and not entirely for any good reason. There was no sin in having differing opinions from others, Alexander knew that it was healthy to be able to consider two different viewpoints at once.

However, Jefferson did so at such an extreme that it caused Alexander physical pain. He was boastful and loud, and while that might have been an advantage in the setting of a debate tournament, he was far too arrogant.

He reminded Alexander too much of himself.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t the first person to speak. No, the first to open their mouth was the professor that Alexander recognized from his Government course. He was the older man with the cool demeanor, white hair pulled back into a tight bun that Alexander wasn’t entirely sure it was ever taken out of.

    “Hello, prospective team members.” The man said, “I am professor Washington, who some of you might recognize from this school’s Economics course. I also happen to sponsor the debate team here. Before I start my speech, I would like to ask that everyone who is here for the free food to go to the back of the hall, and those who are legitimately interested to sit in the first few rows.”

    The entire room moved around Alexander and John, who were already sitting in the front, as a good four-fifths of the room redistributed. Only the first two rows were filled, a pool of fresh faces who Alexander realized he’d get to know in his own time. He turned his attention back to Washington. 

   “I started this team twenty years ago during my second year as a professor here.” Washington began, “There had been a speech team beforehand, but it was disorganized and not worth the breath it takes to describe. During my time leading it, this team has become an icon of Columbia’s campus. Understand the legacy sitting on all of yours shoulders right now. While there will be a method for trying out for the team, let me clarify that my decision as to whether you make the team or not is ultimately the highest authority.

    “The try outs will be fairly simple. I will host a series of mock debates between returning and potential new members. The topic will be your qualifications for the position as a member of the team. In other words, you will have to prove that you are a better candidate for the position that the veteran you are facing holds. This will not be easy, and I understand it will be an arduous task.

    “This is why I am giving you all an entire week to prepare. There are no limits as to what personal experiences you may cite, but remember that anything you say will be used against you by your opponent. I suggest you get to know your foe in order to win your debate. Are there any questions?”

    Absolute silence. While the man seemed a bit vague and unsure of himself, the charm and intimacy of his speaking voice was astounding. After a long pause, the man nodded.

    “Very well. I encourage that you all talk among yourselfs while we draw up names for the debates.”

    At this point, everyone in the back of the room left, koozies and pizza crusts in hand. Alexander turned to John and said, “You’re sure about this?”

    “Not really.” John replied with honesty. “I’m not sure if I can prove myself. How about you?”

    A good question. “Superficially, it shouldn’t be that hard. I’m a bit of a prodigy, John. I wrote my way into Columbia, so I’m sure I can speak my way into the team.” Alexander picked at a slice of pepperoni on his still-untouched pizza.  

    “I think that the fact that we know who we’re working with will only make it easier. Just google them, and I’m sure it’ll be easy to find some reckless behavior.”

    John nodded. “I’m just not sure I’m smart enough.”

    “I’ll help you. It’ll be easy for me, so once I get my points, I’ll help you out.”

    “Really?”

    “Of course.” Alexander said, glancing up at the podium, where Washington was speaking to a few upperclassmen, which unfortunately included Jefferson. “Anything for a friend.”

    They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. Then, Washington turned around and said, “Thank you all for your time and patience. We’ve assigned numbers to every veteran member, and will draw a number as we work our way through prospects. Since prospects outnumber veterans, some will have two partners. We’ll start at the far left end of the row,” The end opposite Alexander, fortunately, “And work our way down.” 

    So the selection process began. It was a bit convoluted, but it worked. The anticipation was killing Alexander, though, and he found himself gripping John’s forearm as they drew closer to the two of them. 

    The entire world stood still as Washington stated in a tone of surprise that John and Alexander would both be matched with Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson. THE Thomas Jefferson. Alexander felt sick and angry. He rose to his feet upon dismissal, making his way up to the podium without a hint of hesitation or fear, and stopping less than a foot in front of Jefferson.

    “I’d like to find some way to contact you.” Alexander said, tone surprisingly calm despite his almost violent body language. He looked ready to throw a punch.

    Jefferson shrugged. “Don’t see why you would. I don’t know anything about you, nor you I, and I want to keep it that way. We can win on principle, not slander.”

    “That’s bullshit.” 

    This earned a brief glance from Washington, who looked more intrigued than offended by Alexander’s language. 

    “What?” Jefferson asked, taken aback. 

    “It’s bullshit.” Alexander insisted. “You would have given time to anyone else but me.” 

    “That’s hardly true.” 

    “Really? Listen- listen to me, Thomas. I’m going to win fairly.”

    “Then do it on your own time. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

    John was the first to realize what Alexander was about to do, grabbing the other boy’s hand right as he was about to deck Jefferson in the face.

    After the fact, neither of them would be able to decide what was more embarrassing: Alexander’s outlash in front of the sponsor of the elite debate team at Columbia University, or Alexander staring dumbly at John for nearly an entire minute as John held his hand, keeping him from punching Jefferson.

    Alexander would vouch for the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased by all the praise and attention that people have been giving not only this work, but all my other works as well. Y'all are too kind to me.
> 
> I feel like I haven't been writing Alexander as cocky enough, so I worked on that. This chapter has provided us with the premise for the first subplot, the Jefferson/Hamilton rivalry! The debate team is supposed to be somewhat of an allegory for the president's cabinet, so I will get on introducing some other figures later on. 
> 
> This notes section is getting a little long. In case you haven't seen, I'm working on another short fic called Showtime which is right up your alley if you're reading this.
> 
> Anyway, chapters will be up as I see fit. Enjoy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things get Interesting

     Stop getting so up in arms about it.”

     “Don’t tell me what to do.” Alexander snapped, drumming his pen on the counter of the small café.

     “You’re not doing yourself any good focusing on Jefferson’s behavior.”

     “It wasn’t just his behavior,” He protested, “It was his entire being. The prick was willing to do anything to keep away from me.”

     Lafayette let out an exhausted sigh. “How much longer will we debate about this, Alexander? You don’t have to talk directly to Thomas in order to find out about him. He has friends, doesn’t he?”

     “Probably not.”

     “Be serious, Alexander.” They said before taking a long sip of their coffee. “Find some people who know him well. You’d be surprised who knows him well.”

     “I doubt I could talk to Washington. Who else is there that I know well enough to talk to?”

     “You don’t have to know someone well to get them to open up, Alexander. I thought you’d learned that the night we first met.”

     Embarrassment flustered through Alexander’s body as he remembered what had happened between him and Lafayette. “Do you want me to seduce Thomas? Is that what you’re telling me to do?”

     “No. I’m telling you that with enough persuasion, you can get information from anyone. Look at it this way: Jefferson is well-known on the campus, and has friends everywhere. I have not a doubt in my mind that he is already digging up something to use against you. Are you following?”

     “Yes.”

     “Well, just as he used his popularity to his favor, you can use your anonymity.”

     “With all due respect, Lafayette, this isn’t espionage. It’s a debate.”

     “And you’re willing to believe that Jefferson isn’t pulling out all the stops to beat you and John into a pulp?” Lafayette asked, “Jefferson doesn’t just win debates, Alexander. He defeats the opposition. He’s vicious.”

     “How do you know this?”

     “Because,” Lafayette said, punctuating the word with another sip of coffee, “He and I happen to be good friends.”

     Alexander paled, then blushed furiously, taking a long sip of his cappuccino. “You aren’t-- you can’t like him!”

     “Do me a favor and don’t assume that you can tell me who I can and cannot be friends with. Jefferson and I are the same age, and he happens to be quite respectable. You don’t have to hate everyone with different values than you.”

     “Yes I do.” Alexander said, “It’s called integrity.”

     “It’s called small-mindedness.”

     For a long few moments, Alexander was silent. “And you won’t help me?”

     “It wouldn’t be fair.” Lafayette replied with a shrug.

     “Right.” Alexander muttered. He glanced down at his watch and pursed his lips.

     “Do you read the school newspaper, Alexander?”

     “We have one of those?”

     “Yes. I advise you begin perusing every issue. Maybe some information in there might help you.”

     “Laf-”

     “Alexander, you need to win to earn your position. For him to secure his own, he just waits for you to crash and burn.” Lafayette protested, “If you don’t put your nose to the grindstone, there’s no possibility of your victory.”

     He nodded. “Very well. Lafayette, thank you for your time. I’ve got to go.” Alexander rose to his feet, and Lafayette mirror the action.

     “Goodbye, mon amie.” They said, planting a kiss on Alexander’s cheek. “Let me know what you find on him.”

     Alexander left without another word.

* * *

 

     The newspaper was incredibly lackluster. The front page was a spread about the reason that everyone was lucky to be attending Columbia, and every other article in it was some other form of self-gratifying bullshit. Alexander felt like Lafayette had done nothing to help him, and while their heart had been in the right place in not giving Alexander any information about Jefferson, he couldn’t help but feel a little stranded.

 

                         A_Ham: Hey Herc, it’s Alexander.

                         H_Mull: What’s up?

                         A_Ham: You’re an upperclassman, right?

                         H_Mull: Yeah

                         A_Ham: Do you know Thomas Jefferson?

                         H_Mull: Yeah

                         A_Ham: Good. Do you have any dirt on him?

                         H_Mull: Not really. He’s a fucking legend. Led the school’s debate team to a world-wide something or the other last year and lost to some British fuck.

                         A_Ham: That’s it?

                         H_Mull: He’s never seen 21 Jump Street.

                         A_Ham: Seriously.

                         H_Mull: You’re talking to the wrong guy, Alex. Did you try talking to Laf?

                         A_Ham: Yes.

                         H_Mull: What did Gibby say?

                         A_Ham: Nothing. They wanted to be “fair”.

                         H_Mull: Well, that’s Lafayette for you.

     Alexander shut his laptop and let out a sigh. Alexander made note about the newspaper in his phone and let himself lean back into the chair at his desk. In front of him, beside his computer, was a blank notebook page. At the top was written:

 

_TJ NOTES_

 

     They almost seemed to mock him. Alexander turned on his chair to face John, who was scribbling notes in a spiral, and opened his mouth to speak. However, the silence between them seemed so much more valuable than anything Alexander could think to share. So, he closed his mouth and simply watched John work for a few long moments, ignoring how unusual it was, before turning back to his desk. He scribbled out the title and rewrote:

 

_AH NOTES_

 

     This wasn’t Jefferson’s story. This was his. And every time he picked up his pen, he would add a new chapter, compose a new measure, begin a verse to a song he knew he could only imagine would one day be done. This was the thesis of his American Dream. This was his first (but not final) great masterpiece.

  
     This was Alexander Hamilton’s great unfinished symphony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM! Name drop! 
> 
> I never really intended to work a namedrop into the fic, because that's dumb and I'm dumb, but it ended up happening because I wanted to wrap up this chapter to work on the next. On that note:
> 
> This chapter is very much filler. The next chapter, which is the actual debate, is already shaping up to be well over six pages (which is, may I note, nearly four times the length of an average chapter in this work). 
> 
> It's going to be long and dialogue-heavy and shady and borderline roast-session-esque. I'm putting a lot of time and work into it, which is great because rehearsals for the show I'm in don't start until next week. I'm aiming to have the next chapter posted by Wednesday, because I don't intend to revise it (for the sake of my own sanity, honestly).
> 
> Prepare for the best.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys. This chapter. THIS. CHAPTER. Prepare for a LOT of reading, and a lot of shade. I went all out on this one.

           The debate was Lincoln-Douglas format.

           Sure, it was juvenile, but it served the function.

           For the occasion, Alexander wore black slacks, Oxfords, a beige waistcoat, and a long-sleeve button up blouse.

           Jefferson wore a three-piece suit. His hair was pulled into a tight and low ponytail, stray hairs meticulously pinned back with innumerable bobby pins.

           Hamilton had pulled his own hair into a tight bun, flat against the back of his head. He, however, hadn’t taken the same care with his loose hairs, which were tucked behind his ears and hanging in his eyes. It was in their appearances that Alexander became well aware that this was so much more than a battle for a position. It was a battle of ideaologies.

 

           Imagine: the bilingual bisexual immigrant boy who wrote his way out of poverty and into the best college in the United States, fighting the rich young prodigy whose parents had enough money to buy him into any position he could ever desire. This was two of America’s different Dreams, fighting to determine their validity. Alexander’s ten notecards and three scribbled pages of notes were all he had to his case that he was everything that he deserved to be.

           Jefferson didn’t make any formalities. He didn’t shake Hamilton’s hand, or even spare a smile as they took their positions at two podiums that faced each other. In the audience of the lecture hall was, among a numbered few, Mulligan, Lafayette, a student who worked for the campus newspaper, and a smattering of other contestants. Everyone knew exactly what was at stake.

           Alexander tapped his cards on the podium as Washington rattled off the rules and regulations for the debate. 32 minutes in total, the debate would be no small feat for either of them. Alexander knew this, but he wasn’t sure if Jefferson had the same insecurity. He looked up at Washington, who in his ever calm and determined tone, said,

           “Are you ready, contestants?”

           “Yes.”

           Of course Jefferson was first to speak. Hamilton glanced at his friends and then said, “Yes.”

           “Very well. We will start with the affirmative constructive argument. For the sake of simplicity, the prospective member will be the affirmative, and the incumbent will be negative. Is this clear, contestants?

           “Yes.” They spoke in unison.

           “Good. Hamilton, your time begins now.”

           The moment the timer started, Alexander stepped away from his podium, notes and cards left behind, and spoke directly to the audience.

           “Some of you may know me. Or should I say, some of you might know who I appear to be. I’m confident, I’m hard-working, and I’m determined. But what do these traits mean if they are not outstanding? Does not my opponent share the same principles as I do in terms of work ethic and self-image? Absolutely. Then what distinguishes me from him, or anyone else for that matter? Let me turn to the concept of privilege for my first example.” When he said this, Alexander gestured at Jefferson. “As we all know, Jefferson came from a position of class and wealth. While I am not discrediting the work he’s done to end up at Columbia University, I do think it is a safe statement to make that it is nothing compared to the labor I endured just to make my way to the United States. Before I was fifteen, my father had left my and my mother had passed. When I moved in with my cousin, he killed himself, and I was working for a landlord, a family friend.

           “Poverty. That was my life. I was barely educated, and everything I learned was on my own time and effort. Every single book I’ve read and story I’ve written has been introduced to me by my own merit. I didn’t grow up in a mansion with a massive library. My brain was my only library. But my story doesn’t end here-- it isn’t a tragedy. I didn’t allow it to be. My last year of high school in the Caribbean, a hurricane hit. Oh, and Jefferson, a hurricane is a high-velocity storm with hundred-of-mile-per-hour-winds that at the very least results in major property damage. Just thought I’d let you know, since you’ve never experienced one.” A small smirk on Hamilton’s face. He was really digging in. “My town was levelled. Everyone lost everything, and I wrote about it. My people were so moved by this poem and my goals that they took up a collection to pay for my voyage here.

           “There was no return ticket for me. There is no security in knowing that if I fail, my parents will have my back. There is no margin for error in my story. As a student in the United States, I am so much more than another Columbia University student. My writing has moved hundreds. My writing has brought me to America. Imagine, bright young men, what might happen if I’m allowed to speak. Imagine the potency of my words if what I wrote already did so much. I am not here to prove that Jefferson is a lesser candidate. I’m no smarter than him, my dear audience, I have simply worked harder. What more is needed in a team member than work? Than grit? Than the drive to wake up every morning knowing their future is not written for them in the checks their parents write the school and make their name themselves? There is no Hamilton in this country, audience. Washington. Jefferson. There is no legacy that I inherited, but there sure as hell is one that I intend to create.

           “I have been making legal and business deals and documents since a young age. My government class wasn’t elective, friends, it was my life. Every moment since the day my father left, I have helped pay taxes that I should not have even encountered until I was much older. On a much more scholarly level, my knowledge of both French and English means that, statistically speaking, I not only have more eloquence than the average unilingual individual. Its latin roots mean that i understand legal terms, even if I haven’t heard of them until the moment I am encountered with them. the french speaker is statistically more likely to be able to conquer critical thinking. But this isn’t a presentation of my resume, this is a debate. So let’s get down to the facts, shall we? I’ve got to give my opponent something to work with.

           “I completed high school two years early, but stayed the two years extra because I knew that students who study at a university in advance are statistically more likely to be alienated and lose their drive. During these gap years, I worked full time to support myself after my mother and cousin’s passing, God rest their souls. I took a small importing company from losing money to being the most successful shipping yard on the island. I worked with other people my age to stage protests against a lack of representation for the black population in the Caribbean. I have been a force of nature. Every moment I’ve been alive, I have lived. I have worked. I never had time for vacations to France every summer, because I cared more about changing the world intrinsically than enjoying it superficially, which might be more than my opposition can say for themselves.

           “Thus is my case, dear friends and opponents. I am the best candidate, because I know what I have to lose. I know what happens if I don’t win every debate. Nothing in my life, I have taken for granted. I don’t need money or success, because my experiences and achievements are far more valuable than an out-of-season Armani tux.” Jefferson was visibly taken aback by this jab. “What I am saying to everyone present today, then, is that I am qualified almost entirely by what i have done, not just what I promise to achieve prospectively. Thank you.”

           A smattering of applause from John, who seemed to be almost jumping out of his chair, Mulligan, who looked like he’d just seen a miracle, and Lafayette, who appeared to be experiencing little more than mild amusement. Alexander returned to his podium and turned to look at Jefferson, who was furiously shuffling notecards. Washington spoke up.

           “Thank you, Mister Hamilton. As you are not yet over time, it’s my position to ask you if you want to surrender the remainder of your time to present your constructive argument.”

           “Yes.”

           “Very well. Next, we will begin the cross-examination of the affirmative argument by the negative. In other words, Jefferson will be attempting to disprove or discredit one or more of Hamilton’s claims. Jefferson, you have the floor.”

           The man, who Hamilton swore looked a little shaken, said, “When presented with the case of the elusive Alexander Hamilton, I was at first mystified. Unlike many of us present, he has not attended any academic institutions on the mainland---”

           “Jefferson, please focus on your argument.”

           Thomas paused for a moment, visibly flustered by Washington’s comment, and said, “Right. What I am trying to say is that the story Hamilton told us is very enchanting, but has little substance. It falls apart. He admits that he finished high school early, but this is because the requirements for graduation in the Caribbean are drastically lower than here in America. His claimed exemplary achievement is about equivalent to the average American graduation. Furthermore, Hamilton’s claim that my own affluence has affected my success was not only unprofessional, but also inaccurate. In case anyone attending has forgotten, this college does not admit based on income. We are admitted by way of test scores and essays, as well as the base college application. In fact, his own ability to attend Columbia despite his claimed ‘financial instability’ only proves that we both had the same opportunity.” Jefferson shuffled to another card. He paused, licking his lips, and moved to another card. Was it just Alexander’s perception, or was he losing his composure? “May I also note that citing personal tragedy as a stepping stone to success is not only exhausted, but dare I say, a bit cliched.

           “The only concrete part of the entire argument presented by my opposition was the statistics about being bilingual, which-- may I note-- are outdated and exaggerated. What the argument consisted of was little more than simple smoke and mirrors. Comments about having been exposed to legal jargon earlier due to his circumstances might be charming, but are ultimately irrelevant. In case you all have forgotten yourselves, a basic understanding of legal jargon is ultimately necessary for any debate team member. By portraying himself as a martyr, Alexander has made meeting the minimum requirements to join the team sound like an achievement, rather than something that is assumed to be understood anyway. What you will be getting if Hamilton is allowed to join the team will be someone of average talent, rather than an exemplary public speaker. His words are inflated and pompous, he fills his argument with tear-jerking material--”

           “Jefferson, please remember that you are supposed to be cross-examining his argument.”

           “Right. This argument is unstable and grounded in little to no solid evidence. Just like its speaker.” A pause, a smirk, “That is all.”

           Silence. A pin could drop and it would sound like a plane crashing. Lafayette clapped slowly, laughing openly. The sounds echoed through the hall, and a glance at the journalist told Alexander that what had just been said was noteworthy. Alexander glanced down at his top note card.

 

_TJ = Bad_

 

           Hamilton could barely stifle his amusement at his own situation. He picked up the card and turned it over, looking at Washington, who was writing something down. Then he spoke again.

           “Thank you, Jefferson. Now the negative side will be allowed to present their constructive argument. They will be given seven minutes, one more than the opposition’s six, but almost five more than the three and a half minutes used by the constructive. The floor is yours.”

           A long pause. Alexander and Jefferson’s gazes were locked, jaws locked, lips drawn tight into lines.

           “Thomas, you--”

           “Thank you, sir.” Jefferson said flatly. He picked up three notecards, almost boasting without words to Hamilton that they were all he needed as he walked away from the podium, mirroring Alexander’s own decision, and facing the audience. “Good afternoon, audience. Washington.” He nodded briefly back at the man working as the moderator before saying, “I’m not here to give you a personal, autobiographical rant about the injustices the world and the rich have bestowed upon me, and why you all owe me a position here because of how hard I’ve worked. I’m not nearly as entitled or poetic about it, though. Can’t figure why. Maybe it has something to do with those social graces the opposition has failed to pick up during the many years their weary soul spend dragging itself through the Caribbean to the United States.” A shrug. “Yes, unlike the opposition, I have a concrete argument. I have points. I have facts and sources. I’m not here to make you all pity me, I’m here to convince you all that you deserve me. Pretty foreign, if I do say so myself.

           “I’ve been on this team since my Freshman year. That’s three, for those of you keeping score at home. In high school, I spent all four years on that team as well. For my last two, I was in a leadership position, and as a Senior, we won the national debate championships. Last year I was not only the first underclassman to lead the Columbia University debate team, but also the first underclassman officer to make it to the world debate summit. You know, the one that we had to go completely undefeated to make it to.” He paused for a moment, evidently to revel in his own pride, before continuing: “I got a perfect score on the SAT and ACT, graduated summa cum laude, ranked third in my class, and am part of the Columbia Honors College.

           “While I lack any linguistic dexterity, my penchant for, you know, winning every single debate I’ve ever been in places me in the very unique position of being able to prove that I am what’s best for this team. I don’t need to explode into passionate soliloquies to make my point because there need not be theatrics to prove what speaks for itself. Also, may I add, that while the dramatics of our friend Hamilton are greatly appreciated, they lack the professional and calm demeanor that is traditional to debates. Something he would know if he was really as well-versed in interpersonal affairs as he claims.”

           A long pause and Jefferson returned to his podium, setting down his cards with pride and looking at Washington, who said, “You have time remaining. Do you wish to use it to further your cross-examination, or do you wish to present your rebuttal?”

           Alexander looked to the audience. Mulligan was on the edge of his chair, grinning in what could only be sadistic amusement. John was looking at Alexander, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, face unreadable. Alexander looked back at Washington, who seemed to be lost in thought. Then, Jefferson spoke. “Yes. Start the clock, please.”

           “Gladly.” Washington said. The timer reset to 00:00, and the professor said, “Any time you’d like to take to prepare your statement?”

           “No, thank you.” Jefferson replied with confidence.

           “Your time starts now, Jefferson.”

           He watched the clock for what it read to be five seconds before flipping the top notecard on his stack and reading off the podium, saying,

           “It isn’t every day that I am presented with a case as unique and amusing as that of the young Alexander Hamilton. After all, he is objectively the perfect candidate for the position I now hold on the debate team at Columbia University. After all, he’s confident, daring, and willing to work with what little he has to earn a lot more than he deserves. But there’s the rub: does he deserve to be on the team? He likes to think so, considering the sob story he’s told us all. However, take a seat and let me tell you about myself for just a minute, let me beg the case that I am not the superior candidate to Alexander, but the only candidate standing up on this stage. In other words, you should not consider Hamilton at all, when I can offer so much more than he could even imagine.

           “Let’s reflect on my achievements in my past years as a member of the Columbia Debate Team. Actually, no. Let’s go further back into my seven years of experience to my freshman year in high school. The public school I attended because I’m part of the oh-so-entitled elite barely had a team to speak of when I joined. Together with my peers, I brought the team not only into success, but fame. We succeeded. We spent countless hours studying and learning because of our passion for the craft. Our knowledge is commendable because it was optional, because we could have very well ignored the entire lesson. We didn’t take for granted that life would bring us the experience we needed, we went out and got it.

           “I shouldn’t ignore my parents’ financial contributions to my life and success, shall I? After all, it’s fairly easy to believe that I had my position at this school bought for me by them. Let us not forget, however, the one-hundred thousand dollars of debt that will sit on my shoulders at the end of my time here. I may not be the every man, but I am not entirely separated from the common man, either. As a member of the college’s debate team, also, I have achieved many things that my wealth could not buy. Every year, the debate team that I have been on has surpassed the year before. As a freshman, we made it to state. Sophomore year, national. Last year, in case the campus’s memory fails, I was the captain of the team that faced off against a series of international schools.

           “Even these achievements aside, my intellectual and academic pursuits just about over-qualify me for the position. Let me bring up again my perfect score on the standardized college entry exams, my four-point-oh GPA, and my position as the valedictorian of my class. Let me emphasize: I am at the very top of the top of my class. And yet the opposition wishes to discredit these things because I am not tragic enough. Do you really want to hold me accountable for the conditions I grew up in? Am I really supposed to be held accountable for something that I could not control? Maybe. Maybe I should have run my own family into debt so that I could hope to exploit it later for my own benefit.” At this point, Jefferson’s tone was almost nefarious, eyes looking directly into the deceptively cool and collected Alexander Hamilton’s own. Jefferson’s hands gripped the podium as he made his point, entire being seeming to ache to prevent Alexander Hamilton from ever dreaming of being on the Columbia University debate team.

           “Furthermore, it is my responsibility to point out that my time on the debate team has never been anything but a positive trend. A statistic, if you will, but one that is founded in real evidence. My achievements have never done anything but increase. Not once since I arrived here have I failed a single debate that I chose to partake in. I have a clean record. And even if my record wasn’t clean, at least I would have any record of which to speak. Even if I wasn’t overqualified, I could at least boast any relevant qualifications to begin with. As a member of the debate team, I won’t stand here and preach to all of you about the illness of my mother or the absence of my father. It isn’t my job to make it personal, it’s my job to make this professional. Maybe there’s something the opposition could learn from that point, assuming that they’re willing to recognize anything beyond the tip of their own nose.”

           Jefferson looked like he was about to pick up the podium and throw it at Alexander. “To conclude: it may not be my position to label the qualifications that either I or the opposition holds, but it is surely my position to let you know what I can offer, which is infinitely more than that which our dear friend Alexander Hamilton can offer us. I do not come to boast, but if it is boastful to list the requirements I have, then I will boast until the day I die. To accept anyone other than me as a member of the team would be an act of sabotage. That,” he said, untensing and crossing his arms, “Will be all.”

           Lafayette broke the silence with applause, and soon John and Mulligan joined them. The clapping died as abruptly as it began, and Washington rose to his feet. The timer was reset to 00:00. “Thank you for your points, Jefferson. However, it is again my obligation to point out that you are severely under time. Is there anything else you would like to add?”

           “No.” Jefferson replied decidedly.

           Washington nodded. He glanced from Alexander to Thomas and said, “I am going to be cutting this debate short. I am delighted to say that both sides have presented a strong enough argument without having to go through the entire debate. There is a time disparity, though. Mr. Hamilton, would you like to use your opportunity to cross-examine the negative? It is entirely optional, so if you feel confident in your points, you can go ahead and say no.”

           Alexander looked at Jefferson, who appeared to be fuming. His gaze turned to the small crowd, all of which seemed to be almost enamored by his and Thomas’s debate. Then, Alexander made eye contact with John and held the gaze for a few long moments. Finally, he looked at Washington. “It’s supposed to be three minutes, right?”

           “Yes.”

           “Give me one and a half.”

           A few scattered “ooooooooooh”s littered the crowd, and Alexander could see Mulligan just about jump out of his seat. He rubbed his hands together, visibly delighted by Alexander’s words. Alexander couldn’t help a small smile.

           “Would you like to use the other one and a half minutes to prepare your argument?” Washington asked, returning to his seat by the timer.

           “No.”

           Washington nodded, and Alexander could almost swear that he saw a smile on the old man’s face. “Very well. The floor is yours, Alexander Hamilton.”

           Without hesitation, Alexander stepped away from the podium and stood at the edge of the stage, feet at shoulder width, and began speaking. Again, he spoke to the audience, and not to Jefferson.

           “While my dear friend Thomas Jefferson likes to think that personal attacks are a viable form of debate, my common sense tells me that his professional demeanor falls apart whenever he gets flustered. It’s not my position in this argument to prove to you that he is wrong, my darling audience. It is my position to prove to you that I am right. More right, actually, than Jefferson. The web he spun for us was quaint enough, don’t get me wrong. After all, what’s worse than having soooooo much money that you don’t know what  to do with it? Don’t you hate it when your daddy’s too busy financing his home in France to pay for your education, when you’re still graduation with nearly fifty-thousand dollars less than the average college student?

           “Let me be hypocritical. I didn’t appreciate the personal attacks. Jefferson claims to be victim to his background, a proper upstanding fellow that has done nothing wrong but be born into the ever-terrible upper tax bracket, but then complains that I also publicize my own background. Should I also be responsible for the place I was born? Can I not exist independent of my circumstances? Or does that only apply if you’re able to buy your way out of accountability like you do with those speeding tickets?” It was an assumption, and an incredibly rash one, but the look on Jefferson’s face told Hamilton that his statement was grounded. “I stand by my statement that I have never done anything but exemplify everything that was given to me in life. I promise to keep the professional attitude and tone that my opposition failed to keep, and I promise that I will not be the debate team member you want, but the one you need.

           “I will not be qualified on technicalities. I will be chosen because I am good at what I do.” Alexander turned from the audience, walking back towards his podium. Seeing he still had a few seconds, he looked over his shoulder and said, in mind you the most facetious tone ever achieved by any one man, “And Jefferson? If the school newspaper’s records are anything worth mentioning, then you oughtn’t boast about winning every debate you compete in when you sit out of more than half the ones you’re asked to take a part in.” He grinned.

           The debate was over.

           Hercules audibly said “Holy SHIT!”, jumping out of his seat with a whoop and clapping his hands. Lafayette joined, but didn’t seem as amused as Mulligan. Laurens, meanwhile, sat back in his chair, a wide grin plastered on his face. A silent understanding between Hamilton and John passed that this debate would make Laurens’s own victory against Jefferson much more straightforward.

           Professor Washington rose to his feet, eyebrows raised, clock back at 00:00. “Thank you for your words, Alexander.” He stated, walking up between the podiums. “Thus, the debate is concluded. Thank you to everyone who sat in. To answer a few questions I’m sure you all will have, scores will be posted by the end of the day. Actually-- for you, the scores should be up within the hour, since your debate was finished sooner than the rest.”

           Alexander felt his breath get caught in his chest. He looked at Jefferson, and realized that he wasn’t nearly as terrified as the proposition. At what point had Washington made his decision? A strange anxiety stirred within Alexander, and he walked off the stage, making his way to the seats where his friends were, and letting out a heavy sigh.

           “So, what’d you think?” Alexander asked.

           “Fuckin wild, mate!” Hercules said in a tone of hushed excitement. “Ya’ fuckin’ recked ‘im!”

           A smile on Hamilton’s face. “Thanks, Mulligan. I didn’t know you liked debate.”

           “Oh, I don’t. I just fuckin’ ‘ate Jefferson.”

           At this, Hamilton laughed. He turned to say something to Laurens, and was immediately greeted with a full-on bear-hug. “Holy shit, Alexander!” John said, pulling away and holding Alexander at an arm’s length. “You’re… wow! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

           A bashful blush. “Yeah, I guess I did shut him down.” Alexander turned to Lafayette, who had risen to their feet, but hadn’t approached him. “What about you, Laf. What’d you think?”

           “It was a good debate, Alexander.” They said. “Though you should watch yourself. You tread a bit on thin ice there.”

           "He insulted my heritage, Lafayette.” Alexander said with restrained anger. “I feel like if anything, I was very kind.”

           Lafayette shook their head. “You can’t express every single thought you have. Some things are better left unsaid.”

           Feeling a bit off-put by Lafayette’s criticism, Alexander stepped away from them and went back to where John and Hercules stood.

           “Do you think Jefferson won?”

           John shrugged. “I guess all we can really do is wait.”

           And so they did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty exhausting, huh? I considered posting this chapter in parts because of its length, but I thought I'd celebrate having gotten past 10 chapters by posting the thing in bulk.
> 
> I am so excited to show you guys the conclusion of this debate! Would you like me to also write in detail Laurens and Jefferson's debate, or be more superficial with it? 
> 
> I've got a lot of ambitious stuff in the works for this fic, and as soon as I wrap up Showtime, I'm going to be starting another longer fic! I have been cranking these things out left and right, holy cow. 
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for all the support. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little rivalry building! Enjoy.

      “You did well, Thomas.” Alexander said in some far-fetched attempt to be civil.

 

    The two stood outside of the Government lecture hall, alone in the hallway. It’d been nearly twenty minutes since their debate had adjourned, and still there were no results from Professor Washington. Maybe it was just because their results had been so close, or maybe it was because Washington enjoyed the anticipation.

 

    Everyone else who Alexander would rather have spoken to had already gone. Hercules had a frat event, Lafayette had (another) date, and John had to do some project about the Bill of Rights. Alexander hadn’t cared to ask any details. Thus, he stood alone with Jefferson, trying desperately to diffuse the tension. Not because he liked Jefferson, but because he hated being quiet.

 

    “Thank you.”

 

    It sounded far from sincere. With these parting words, Jefferson turned on his heels and began walking away from Alexander. For a moment, Alexander thought it was a joke, some kind of mockery of his own flippancy in the debate. But no, Jefferson kept walking, and just as he opened the double door, Alexander said,

 

    “Don’t you want to see the result?”

 

    “I already know the result, Hamilton.”

 

    “Oh, do you?” Already, venom seeped into Alexander’s tone.

 

    “Of course. Your argument lact accuracy and direction. It was all preaching and complaining. You were trying to sell yourself like some kind of product. It was improper and certainly not worthy of team membership.”

 

    “Oh, I’m sure you’d say that.” Alexander snapped. “What, should I try to emulate your skittish and anxiety-ridden style of debate that relies on personal attacks rather than any actual supporting evidence?”

 

    Jefferson laughed at this. “Just because I made digs are your argument, doesn’t mean I’m petty. Alexander, we were debating ourselves. Being personal in my statements wasn’t unprofessional. It was expected. I had to disprove your argument just as much as I had to prove mine. Maybe your sensitivity is just more evidence that you know so very little about how debate is supposed to work.”

 

    “Listen, Jefferson.” Alexander said, taking several large, angry strides towards the cocky upperclassman, “There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your fantasies. Don-”

 

    “Shakespeare, Alexander?” Jefferson’s condescending tone broke through Alexander’s own anger. “You’re really going to use the words of that old fart against me? Honestly, you should at least understand the context of what you’re saying before you simply spit words at everyone you meet. Do you know what play that’s from?”

 

    “Hamlet, I-”

 

    “Your effort isn’t going to pay off, Alexander. The position is mine for the year. Maybe when the team’s lost its strongest member after I graduate, then you might have a chance.”

 

    “Jesus Christ!” Alexander said, hands balling into fists. He grabbed Thomas by the lapels and said, “Get over yourself. Get over your legacy and your ego! What do you have beyond your--”

 

    It was then the door to the lecture hall opened and Alexander let go, taking a half-step away from Jefferson. He turned to see professor Washington walking out with a folder tucked under his arm.

 

    “Professor.” Hamilton said, trying not to look as if he had been about to tackle Jefferson to the floor.

 

    “Hamilton.” Washington said with a gentle smile, “Jefferson. I see you two have been enjoying some socialization.”

 

    Enjoying wasn’t exactly the right word. “Yes sir.” Alexander replied.

 

    “You two must have a question for me,” Washington said. “As to who won the debate.”

 

    “Well, sir, I’m sure Alexander would like to know.” Jefferson said in his ever-snide tone.

 

    Then, with the most gentle and sincere smile, Professor Washington said, “It was a tie.”

 

    A pause so quiet Alexander could hear the blood rushing to his face in a furious blush. He looked at Jefferson, and was surprised by what he saw. The poor bloke was entirely clocked out. He looked terrified. Alexander looked back to Washington. “A draw? Who wins in a draw?”

 

    “No one.” Washington replied, adjusting the briefcase on his shoulder, “You both will be joining the debate team. Welcome, Alexander.”

 

    While a feeling akin to (if not exactly synonymous with) joy ought to have been flooding Alexander’s thoughts, he couldn’t help but feel a little threatened. He looked back at Jefferson.

 

    “I look forward to working with you, Thomas.” The tone was stiff and informal.

 

    When Washington left the two, turning around and re-entering the lecture hall, Jefferson’s face slipped from blankness to poorly-concealed contempt.

 

    “Congratulations, Alexander.” Jefferson said with a somber tone and expression.

 

    “Congratulations, Thomas.”

 

    Suddenly, Alexander didn’t enjoy knowing the results of the debate as much as he’d anticipated that he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry for the slow update. I've been overwhelmed with school and theatre, which really shouldn't be a surprise at this point.
> 
> Anyway there's been a bit of confusion as to where I can be found on other social media. The only social media I really use is twitter, where I can be found with the handle @herculesmullligan (with 3 l's). 
> 
> Chapters are gonna return to their usual length now, but I do intend to periodically include longer chapters. Thank you all for your comments and kudos!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should put a witty, foreshadow-heavy line here, but all I can really say is this: freckles.

    The delight that Alexander had actually made it onto the debate team didn’t hit him until long after he’d left the lecture hall with a small packet of paperwork and important dates, and a list of phone numbers he’d need to save in his phone. He was sitting on the campus commons, the gorgeous outdoor expanse that seemed to stretch forever, when a wide smile suddenly broke onto his face. Alexander Hamilton, the bastard immigrant whoreson from nowhereville, Caribbean, had won a debate against the leader of Columbia’s elite debate team, Thomas Jefferson. Well, he hadn’t exactly won, but he’d put up enough of a fight that Jefferson hadn’t won. That in and of itself was quite a feat.

 

    The bright sun seemed to smile at Alexander as he reclined at the base of the Alma Mater statue, and he dared to smile right back. Maybe he looked a little crazy, leaning against the warm marble and grinning at the sky, but it was then that the young Hamilton realized that he really didn’t care what anyone thought of him. As if on cue, the sun moved behind a cloud and the light grew softer, into more of a gentle embrace than a bearhug of sunlight. Alexander was about to crack open the packet when footsteps approached him. He didn’t bother looking at whoever it was that approached him, and instead let his head fall back against the marble.

 

    “Alexander!”

 

    Immediately, his head popped back up. John’s warm voice was unmistakable. The goofy grin on Alexander’s face somehow widened as he moved over to make room for John to join him on the steps. “Hey John.” He replied, “I thought you had to do that project.”

 

    “Oh, yeah.” A soft chuckle. “I still do. Ditched it thirty minutes in because I didn’t really understand what it was about.” Evidently having realized that Alexander had moved to make space for him, John sat down next to his friend, their shoulders clumsily bumping as he took a look at the commons. “Besides, you’re the man of the hour. Word’s been traveling fast about your tie with Jefferson.”

 

    “I hope so.” Alexander said as he began pulling his hair from the ponytail he’d put it in. “He deserves to be knocked down a few notches.”

 

    As if on cue, John laughed again. “Taking your victory in stride, mister Hamilton?”

 

    “Don’t see why there’s anything wrong with it. I’ve claimed a victory over someone who claimed he couldn’t be defeated. Deserves a bit of a victory lap, doesn’t it?”

 

    “Of course. You’re a regular David.”

 

    Alexander paused, the allusion lost on him.

 

    “You know, David and Goliath. From the Bible, you goof.” This was accompanied with a slap on Alexander’s shoulder.

 

    Alexander just laughed. “Right, of course.”

 

    “How should we celebrate, then? Should we gloat on twitter?” John asked, now having turned almost his entire body to face Alexander, whose hair fell out of his ponytail and into his eyes.

 

    “Oh, come on. Let’s just get together with Lafayette and Mulligan and have more fun than Jefferson could ever dream.” Alexander said, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I’ll deal with the politics of debate club later on.”

 

    John paused, pursing his lips and glancing out at the commons before looking back at Alexander. “Promise not to mount Lafayette this time?”

 

    This caused Alexander to break into a furious blush. “Uh---”

 

    John doubled over in laughter. “Alexander, it was a joke. Lighten up. Lafayette’s got the tall, suave thing going for them.”

 

    “It’s not something I intend to repeat.” Alexander stammered.

 

    “Alright, alright, sure. Whatever, let’s just get everyone together and we’ll figure something out, yeah?”

  
    “Yeah.”

 

    A silence overcame them. Alexander leaned back against the base of Alma Mater, grin eased into a soft smile, and looked back at the horizon. John did this too, the two students sitting in an absolute silence next to one another. It was a silence without tension, with a sublime peace, and Alexander could feel himself being absolutely enveloped by the bliss of the moment. With some groggy willpower, Alexander pulled himself from the reverie to find that John was still entirely consumed by it.

 

    He had freckles.

 

    They were light, but the smattering was impossible to miss. They danced across the bridge of his nose and down his cheeks and across his jaw. The little specks danced down his neck---

 

    John’s hand was on his.

 

    Alexander opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, Alexander closed his mouth and turned his hand over, taking John’s hand in his own. Just as he was about to intertwine his fingers with his friend’s, another flurry of footsteps approached them.

 

    Alexander jumped to his feet, just about yanking his hand from John’s and turning to see none other than Professor George Washington approaching the two of them. Alexander pushed his hair out of his face, ginger curls making last-ditch attempts to hide the almost terrified expression that plastered the young Alexander’s face.

 

    “Mister Hamilton,” Washington said, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

 

    “Well, you did. But I won’t hold it against you. Do you need something?”

 

    Washington, who should have been at least marginally scandalized by Alexander’s attitude, just smiled genially. “I wanted to congratulate you on your performance in the debate.”

 

    “Really?” Alexander crossed his arms, “You didn’t seem as proud when you were telling me about the results.”

 

    “Well, you have to understand that there’s an air of professionality to debate, regardless of the level it is occurring on. If it were proper, I would have told Jefferson a lot more than I did. Alexander, I must encourage you not to sell yourself short. You pack quite the punch, and I know you know it.”

 

    “I appreciate your compliments, but I feel like you want something. Why did you approach me?” Alexander finally asked, tone almost exasperated.

 

    “Oh,” Washington said, smile still hovering on his lips, “I wanted to know how you had met mister Laurens.”

 

    “We’re roommates.” Alexander’s tone was unusually defensive. “How do you know him?”

 

    “He’s my TA.”

 

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine me, screaming.
> 
> I've been kinda infrequent with updates so I really hope to crank out quite a few while I'm on Thanksgiving break, between my college auditions and various other obligations I have.
> 
> I'm very chuffed, as I feel like I've been coming more and more into Alexander as a character. He's becoming a lot more arrogant, and that's exactly what I'm going for. 
> 
> Maybe I should put a spoiler warning here? It's not very spoiler-y, mostly because I don't have much of an idea where this story is going to begin with. Ha.
> 
> Lams isn't exactly endgame right now. I did write the story with Alexander and John falling for each other in mind, as I inevitably hope they do, but believe me when I say that the Schuyler sisters and Maria Reynolds will definitely play their parts as well.
> 
> This chapter was kind of gratuitous shipping just because I had been talking about fluffy lams with a friend of mine beforehand and got up in my feelings. What comes next? Well, you'll just have to wait. I promise that the story is coming, just as soon as I set up a few more subplots.
> 
> Okay this needs to end eventually so follow me on twitter @herculesmullligan (with 3 l's cause I'm a hater), and don't forget to leave kudos and comments so I can know what y'all think!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think you're ready.

    John was Washington’s teacher assistant.

 

    It all made sense. That was why he wanted to join the team. Being a TA to Washington probably meant that he’d gotten to know Washington much better than Alexander himself. A strange feeling akin to envy grew within Alexander. Already, John would have an unfair advantage of Washington’s favor. Sure, anyone was more favorable to Washington than Jefferson according at least to the way the two interacted, but Alexander felt cheated. He, for once, didn’t voice this.

 

    “Really?” Alexander said, hoping Washington would reveal it as part of some massive prank.

 

    “Absolutely. I’m glad you’ve found your way into the young gentleman’s good favors, he’s a very hard worker.” Alexander responded with a nod, and Washington adjusted the papers under his arm. “I should be off, mister Hamilton. I look forward to getting to know you better at the first debate meeting. And John--” He said, raising his voice so that the other student could hear him, “I await the argument you make in your debate for your team position.”

 

    Suddenly, the air became a lot heavier.

 

    Washington walked down the steps and disappeared into the green of the commons, but the weight lingered. In his happiness, Alexander had almost completely forgotten about having to help John with his debate. He turned around and saw that John had already risen to his feet and was walking towards him.

 

    “John-”

 

    “Alexander-”

 

    They spoke at the same time, and the silence returned.

 

    “We need to work on your debate, John.”

 

    John shook his head. “Let’s celebrate your victory.”

 

    “We don’t have time for that. Your debate is in--” Alexander glanced at his watch “-- only a few hours until you have to face off with him. If we waste any time, you’re going to be more likely to lose.”

 

    “So be it.” John said with a shrug.

 

    “You-- don’t really care about being on the team, do you?”

 

    A long pause from John. “No, I guess not.” he said. “It was kind of something I just wanted to try out.”

 

    Alexander frowned. “You didn’t really want to do it?”

 

    “Nope.”

 

    “Then I guess we have all the more time to celebrate, then.” Alexander replied, putting an arm around John’s shoulders. “I say we call up Mulligan and Lafayette and go down to the crowbar.”

 

    John nodded and smiled, putting his arm around Alexander’s waist. “Sounds way better than working on a boring debate.”

 

                    A_Ham created a group chat with J_Lau, H_Mull, and M_Laf

 

                    A_Ham: Hey guys, John and I are making plans to hang out in a few.

 

                    A_Ham: Want to join us?

 

                    H_Mull: Shit, I can’t m8

 

                   H_Mull: Kappa Tau’s hosting a party to kick off the year. Sorry m8

 

                    A_Ham: It’s fine

 

                    M_Laf: Raincheck?

 

                    A_Ham: Yeah

 

                    M_Laf: Sorry,

 

                    M_Laf: Busy

 

    So the plan had fallen apart a bit. Alright, whatever. Alexander could just as well have fun alone with John as he could have with the rest of them. Besides, being with Laf in the crowbar again would spell nothing short of disaster.

 

    Alexander tossed his phone onto his bed and propped his feet up on his desk, which presently had the debate team paperwork scattered across it.

 

    “So Lafayette and Mulligan won’t be making it.”

 

    John was sitting on Alexander’s bed (largely due to the fact that his own was covered in clothes he really needed to fold and put away), highlighting something in his textbook. He’d turned his phone off because evidently he was way too easily distracted by things like that. Some kind of attention deficit. He drummed his highlighter on the top of his textbook. “That sucks. You wanna cancel?”

 

    Alexander looked at John and shrugged. “How important is whatever it is that you’re reading?”

 

    “I mean, it’s a chapter on the Articles of Confederation…”

 

    “Oh God, making plans with you would be doing you a favor. Put on your jacket, John. I can think of ten things more enjoyable than studying that postcolonial clusterfuck of a document.”

 

    As if to make his point, Alexander rose to his feet and yanked the textbook from John’s hands, slamming it shut. “Alex!” John exclaimed, scandalized.

 

    “You have four years to bore the shit out of yourself, John. Let’s go.”

 

    “Alright, alright.” John said, looking at the floor in an attempt to hide his smile.

 

    Alexander turned on his heels and walked to their door, picking up both John’s jacket and his own. “You ready to have some fun, John Laurens?”

 

    John finally looked up, and their eyes met.

 

    “Alexander, I am ready to have the time of my goddamn life.”

 

    So they headed out to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, I did think you were ready. I just wasn't sure how to summarize.
> 
> The next chapter or so is going to focus on building a friendship between John and Alexander, especially now that we have his debate out of the way.
> 
> Things might get in the way of them having all the fun they wanted, though. :^))))))
> 
> Follow me on twitter @hercmullligan w/ 3l's cause i'm a hater!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we ignore the plot for a bit of shameless fluff.

     Once they got out of the dorm, both John and Alexander realized that they had absolutely no idea what to do with themselves. In all of Alexander’s excitement to get John away from his studies and focused on what really mattered (Alexander, obviously), he had failed to think of a way to occupy John’s time.

     They walked side by side through the campus, passing through the commons when John spoke.

     “We could always cancel our plans and hang out in the dorm. I have a few friends who have an xbox, and we could find a co-op game or something.”

     “That’s something we could do anytime, John. Let’s do something that’s once-in-a-lifetime.” It was bullshit, of course. Alexander just sucked at video games and wasn’t ready to lose to John.

     They rounded a corner and headed towards a nearby street. “We could always go back to the crowbar. It’s got to be empty on a night like this, we’d have the whole place to ourselves to talk and hang out and enjoy ourselves. Isn’t that what you want?”

     Well, not entirely.

     Alexander wanted to do something that would make him feel alive, and while drinking certainly did the trick, it seemed like almost an insult to their friendship to waste their alone time getting shitfaced. “Yeah, but empty bars make getting wasted boring. How about-- how about we cross the street and see what shops are nearby?”

     Neither of them had money, but neither of them cared. They crossed the street, running in order to avoid getting hit by a car that could definitely afford the cost of the ticket.

     On the side of the street where they stood was a small strip center lined with a few small, family-owned shops. They all seemed to be the same age as the college. Alexander nodded his head towards the end of the street. “What about we see what kind of damage we can do?”

     “It’d be my pleasure.” John said, and they walked down the center.

     The first store they passed was a boutique that seemed to specialize in formal gowns and suits. Even the sidewalk in front of it seemed too expensive for the two, and they passed it. Next was a café which smelled like fresh-brewed coffee and put-out cigarettes, and then a book store. Alexander froze in his steps, the siren song of unexplored novels calling to him. “What about this place?” He asked, glancing at the books on display in the small front window.

     A boxed set of the Harry Potter series (which he’d read front to back and concluded that the books were only interesting because Hermione were in them), some young adult stories whose titles and authors he didn’t recognize, and a few biographies about historical figures, bubbly font on the front title making sure Alexander knew that it was illustrated.

     “Well, it’s no crowbar.” John replied. He stood next to Alexander and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, squinting his eyes and checking out the books. “You ever read that one?” John asked, nodding towards one of the books Alexander didn’t recognize. “Maximum Ride Forever.” He read, “I never got past the first book, you know. Didn’t like that Max kept going back to Fang. Maybe I should catch up with it.” a small smile formed on John face.

     Alexander had to look away from John when he smiled, trying to avoid the way that the fairy lights in the window emphasized his olive skin and damn-near-perfect complexion.

     Jesus Christ, he was in too deep.

     “Did you ever read Harry Potter?” Alexander asked, grasping desperately for common ground as he tried to avoid the fact that he was already falling.

     Figuratively, of course.

     “Of course I did. I didn’t grow up under a rock, after all.”

     “What house are you?”

     John paused, presumably caught up in his thoughts. “Hufflepuff. What about you?”

     “I don’t know.” Alexander replied honestly. “I’ve always thought of myself as a Gryffindor, but everyone I’ve ever asked says I’m a Slytherin.”

     “Don’t worry about it too much, Alex. House sortings are arbitrary, anyway.”

     Alexander found the intestinal fortitude to look back at John and said, “Do you want to go inside?”

     “The book store?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Of course. Lead the way, Alexander.”

* * *

 

     They spent the next hour and a half traipsing through the bookstore and discussing their favorite novels. Alexander found out that John believed Romeo from Romeo and Juliet was bisexual, and John found out that Alexander thought the same thing of Orsion from Twelfth Night.

     This inevitably launched into a hushed conversation about the sexuality of William Shakespeare himself until the two were approached by a tired-looking employee, asking if they needed any help. Of course they didn’t, but Alexander asked where they could find the biographies, and they were led across the store to a corner shelf. When they’d realized that the only biographies the store had were on people who had graduated Columbia, the two left the store and made the communal decision to turn back and walk to the college.

     This only lasted until they passed the café again, and John pulled Alexander into the toasty embrace of what Alexander could only describe as the quintessential small town café.

* * *

 

     There was barely enough room to move in the café. Even on the cold evening, several small huddles of students and adults alike were packed into the warm embrace of the humble business. John and Alexander maneuvered between tables, muttering polite “excuse me”s and “pardon me”s to whomever they accidentally bumped into until they reached the counter at which stood a barista who seemed way too chipper for someone working such a late shift on such a busy night.

     “Good evening.” She said, smiling kindly. “How can I help you two?”

     Before Alexander could say anything, John said, “Can I get a hot chocolate, please?”

     He hadn’t even read the menu, he just assumed they served it. Alexander, however, wasn’t going to take the same risk. He perused the chalkboard menu on the wall behind the barista, reading a series of increasingly bizarre and quirky drinks until the barista snapped him back to reality with a gentle “And you?”

     “Oh, we aren’t together. Paying together, I mean.” Alexander said, flustered at having been broken from his reverie.

     “Yes we are. It’s on my card” John replied, glancing at Alexander with another goddamn smile. “What do you want?”

     “Um…” As he glanced at the menu, desperately trying to make a final decision, another barista approached her, whispering something in her ear and causing the cashier to look back at her and giggle. “What?” Alexander asked, assuming he’d done something wrong.

     “Oh, nothing.” The girl replied. “What would you like to order?”

     Alexander pursed his lips. “Just a house coffee, two creams and three sugars.”

     She nodded, punching in something on the register and looking up at them. “Your total is seven fifty-three.”

     John pulled out a crinkled-up ten. “Keep the change.” He said, “It’s my tip.” A delighted grin spread on the barista’s face.

     “Th-thank you! You two have a great evening. What name should we put this under?”

     “Alexander.”

     “John.”

     They answered at the same time. John repeated his name and the barista nodded eagerly.

     The two of them took the nearest seat at a round wooden table which had the perfect number of seats: two.

     “Thanks.” Alexander said, almost embarrassed by his own gratitude.

     “It’s nothing.” John replied. “Besides, it’s the least I could do for a friend like you.”

     Friend.

     The word was comically foreign to Alexander, who’d always been too opinionated and confrontational to be anyone’s friend. Especially anyone as cool and collected and patient as John. It was Alexander’s turn to smile. “You know, you’re the first person to ever call me a friend.”

     “Really?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Well then I must be the first sensible person you’ve ever met.”

     Just then, the barista who’d interrupted the cashier arrived with their drinks in paper cups, smiling at both of them before walking away and returning to what Alexander could only assume was pouring hot drinks into more paper cups. John picked up his cup, holding it at eye level. “To the cockiest goddamn member of the Columbia University debate team.”

     “To me.” They bumped cups, and Alexander took a sip of the miserably bitter but somehow still tolerable coffee. For a moment, he relished in the shared silence, illuminated by the clinking and brushing and muttering and laughing of the café’s ambiance, and for a moment, Alexander felt the all-encompassing feeling of content. Then John was looking at his cup sleeve quizzically.

     “Look at this.” He said, “A number. Check to see if you got one too.”

     Alexander looked at his own sleeve, and sure enough, someone had written down what he could only assume was a cell phone number. Beneath it, in scrawling cursive and accompanied with a doodled heart was a name.

     Angelica.

     Alexander took another sip of his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh, another character! I wonder how she's gonna come into play :^)
> 
> this is gonna be my last update until sunday at the earliest, because i'm headed out of town for a volunteer event. this update's a little longer than normal because i know how lazy i've been with trying to get my works updated on time. thank you all for your patience, comments, and kudos!
> 
> as always, you can find me on twitter at @hercmullligan (with 3 l's because I hate words)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter exists only because of my love for hercules mulligan

“Alexander!”

Alexander let out a groan that resembled a response.

“Alexander, get up!”

Not given time to respond, Alexander felt the earth shift beneath him as John pushed him off his own bed. The tile floor of their dorm did not make for a warm welcome. “Whaddayawan’?” He asked, rolling over onto his back and looking up at his roommate.

“Do you know what time it is?” John asked, hands on his hips.

Shit. “Nahhhh.” Alexander replied, tugging the blanket off his bed and wrapping it around him. The floor would make a decent enough bed.

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Mmmmmm….” He groaned, sitting up and propping himself against his bed. Christ, the room was freezing.

“Get dressed.”

“I don’wannaaaaaaaaa.” Alexander said, brushing a stray hair out of his face and already excepting that he was going to have to tackle the world’s worst case of bedhead once he decided to rise from the dead.

“You’ll miss professor Washington’s class.” John said, turning away from Alexander to fish through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a -shirt that had probably read something a decade ago, but the text was all-too-faded for the groggy young Hamilton to mmake out.

“So be it.” Alexander said, flopping back onto his bed and curling into a fetal position.

“Not an option.” John said, kneeling down by Alexander’s bed so that they were eye-level. “Come on, you don’t wanna piss off your coach.”

Oh yeah. He was part of the team. Alexander groggily recalled his evening spent with John a few days previous, where they’d met the two lovely girls who’d given them a free upsize on their drinks. He glanced at his desk where the cup still sat, Angelica’s number scrawled on the side. He made a mental note to call her. “He’s a cool guy, John.” Alexander replied, turning away from the roommate in question. “He’ll understand.”

A resigned sigh. “How late were you out last night, again?”

Memories of the night previous waded through the fog of Alexander’s exhaustion. A party of some kind-- with Kappa Tau? Alexander could vaguely remember talking to Hercules and Lafayette about something. What had it been? He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. God, he felt like shit. Alexander knew, of course, that this could mean only one thing: he’d gotten completely wasted the night before. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Had he slept with anyone? Realizing his astute lack of shirt, Alexander decided that it would be a safe assumption. “Did I have a shirt when I came back?” Alexander drawled, turning back to look at John.

“I dunno, I was asleep.” John replied. “Why, did-- Alexander!” He exclaimed, amusement on his face. “Did you get some tail last night?”

Maybe. Vaguely, he could remember the feeling of someone’s hands on his body, lips on his dick, something about a guest room in the frat house. He groaned again. Remembering made his head feel like it was cracking open. “I-- I think so.”

“Nice. Pretty subtle of you to do your walk of shame at night, Alexander.” John said, throwing the clothes at him. “Now get dressed and go to class.”

“Fine mom, whaddever…” He muttered, catching the clothes and stumbling out of bed.

That was when Alexander noticed two things: he had no pants on, and had perhaps the most inconvenient morning wood in the history of man. Too groggy to give a proper fuck about it, he tugged on the sweatpants, which nearly resulted in an unfortunate fall, and pulled on the t shirt.

“You look worse for wear.” John said, tone obviously joking, but Alexander was too tired to be amused.

“Mmmhm…” Alexander managed, picking up a beanie from John’s bed and pulling it over his wild hair-- there was no way he would be making any attempts at crossing that bridge, not when he was too busy shoving his feet into a pair of vans that were also definitely not his, and stumbling out the door. “Mmbye John.” 

“Bye, Alexander.”

 

* * *

 

Washington seemed unimpressed by Alexander’s tardiness. 

The lecture that day was on the supreme court, something Alexander already knew about. Which wasn’t saying much, because there was a lot that he already knew about. Regardless, he sat in the back and slept through the entire thing, only being brought back to consciousness by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He didn’t remember putting it there.

Had John slipped it in? Alexander really didn’t give him half the credit he deserved. Pulling out the phone, Alexander answered it without opening his eyes.

“Hhhhhamilton.” He sighed, a sad excuse for an answer.

“Oi, Alexander!” Hercules’s unmistakable tone. “You left some shit back at the party, you ever wanna see it again?”

“Sure.” Alexander opened his eyes. The room was empty. He sighed.

“Fair, fair. Jus’ stop by some time before tonight, or it’s fair game.”

Fair game? Alexander nodded. He hung up before remembering Hercules couldn’t see, and rose to his feet, stumbling out of the classroom and finding himself in the presence of none other than the ever-terrible Thomas Jefferson.

“Alexander, I missed your commentary during today’s lecture.”

“No you didn’t. No you didn’t.” Realizing that he had said both of those out loud, Alexander pursed his lips. “Noooooooo you didn’t.” Go hard or go home.

“Listen, Alexander-- do you keep up with the campus social media?”

No. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’d be a good idea of you to check up on Seabury’s twitter.”

“Seabury?”

“Communications major who takes it a bit too seriously.” Jefferson replied. “He runs a gossip blog, and I think you should see his most recent post.”

It was spoken with such a tone of indifference that Alexander couldn’t suspect anything. He shrugged. “I’m not one for gossip, Thomasssssss.” He hadn’t intended to drag out the ending syllable, but sure, why not.

“Fine.” He replied with a shrug. “Also, you might want to talk to Washington. He seemed a bit wounded that his little prodigy showed such indifference during a lecture.”

“Whatever.” Hamilton muttered, shoving past Thomas and into the early afternoon sunlight. Christ, he needed a nap. Shying away from the sun like some lethargic vampire, Alexander crossed the commons and began his walk of shame to the Kappa Tau frat house.

 

* * *

It was a gorgeous as he remembered, opulent construction betraying the depraved activities that happened at their parties. Some garbage remained on the lawn from the previous night’s party, and all Alexander could do was wonder how much he’d contributed to the mess himself. He knocked on the door once, and Hercules opened it almost immediately. Had he been waiting?

“Hey, Herc.” Alexander said, the walk having robbed him of most of his morning drowsiness. “Sorry about leaving my stuff here.”

“Hey, don’ fret it. Jus’ didn’t wanna give this shit up, it’s too fuckin’ nice for the likes of these blokes.” Hercules said as he handed Alexander his clothes, all of which had been neatly folded. “Bit surprised an urchin like you could afford Westwood.”

“You-- you know designers?” Alexander asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Yeah.” Hercules said, face overcome with a look of guilt. “Bit of a passion of mine, fashion is. Folks just don’ take it as serious as they oughta, y’know?” He asked, smirking. “So how’d you do it, mate? How’d y’ afford Westwood?”

A shrug. “Pulled some strings.” Actually, he stole them from someone he’d hooked up with, but same difference. 

Hercules laughed. “Bloke like you’d ‘ave to, wouldn’ ‘e?” He paused before stepping out the doorway, closing the door until it was open just a crack. They stood alone on the doorway. “Lissen, mate. Me and the boys are very proud of you ‘n all for beatin’ Thomas. Seriously, shit takes some ‘nads.”

“Well-- thanks, I guess.” Alexander said, taking a half-step away from Hercules. “We should get together sometime.”

“Sure, yea’,” Hercules answered, “Sorry mate, shit keeps gettin’ in the way. Boys gotta get together soon sometime, though.” He opened the door and glanced into the quiet frat house. “Deuces, Alex.”

“Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: plot! We're gonna have a debate meeting. It's gonna be lIIIIIIT!!!!!!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Follow me on twitter for updates @hercmullligan (3 l's because zayn left)


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